


season two.

by pageofpentacles



Category: I Am Not Okay with This (TV 2020)
Genre: Canon Lesbian Relationship, Comfort, Drug Use, F/F, F/M, Light Angst, Multi, Post-Canon, Recreational Drug Use, basically a continuation to the show, discovering superpowers, stan is a good friend
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:49:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22964161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pageofpentacles/pseuds/pageofpentacles
Summary: The title says it all, folks. Strap in and read the beginning of another adventure starring The I Don't Know How I Blew This Up But It Happened gang.Homecoming was a garbage fire, and yet, Stan and Dina take it upon themselves to find Sydney and restore peace. Sydney, however, deals with her own demons as she learns the ins and outs of her abilities. There's something stirring in Brownsville, and not the lives of teenagers that peak in highschool. Something harsh, something real.Something everyone is definitely not okay with.
Relationships: Sydney Novak/Dina
Comments: 38
Kudos: 158





	1. ch.1 two kids, a body, and an endless night

**Author's Note:**

> welcome, welcome. let's do this shit :) but not before stan and dina figure things out

When Stanley Barber peeled himself from the lacquered wood floor, the left side of his face was numb. And everyone was screaming. And running. And judging from the pool of Brad’s blood, things hadn’t gone well. Sydney had fled, that much was obvious. He was sure he’d do the same. 

Within seconds of dazed staring, he spotted a diary. A beacon of hope to not get caught, he only had to reach with one spindly arm and clutch the vibrant, dreamy cover to his chest. Safe. He stuffed it in his jacket as the last of the students ran off, homecoming now little more than a body and some shitty music.

He’s unsure of the whole situation. There’s a shallow sort of apathy surrounding Bradley Lewis. Like, Stan’s aware of the dead guy in front of him but he doesn’t _feel_ anything.

Certainly not feeling as much as Dina, crouching in front of the dark puddle and splattered from head to toe in blood. Stanley unconsciously kneels beside her, gently settling an arm on her shoulder.

“Hey, Dina?” 

She’s murmuring something, like a magic spell. For a moment he thinks she’s some sort of superhero too, but as he listens closer the words become clear.

 _“What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck.”_ She grabs at her own face, wiping and scratching until it’s brick-red all over. _Soundtrack to my life_ , he thinks to himself.

“Dina, we have to go. At least just, to the bathroom, and get you cleaned up.” She looks up at him, tearful. She looks vaguely confused, lips pursed softly and eyebrows knitted. This was, he guessed, to be expected from someone that lost her newly crowned ex-boyfriend. However, Stan wouldn’t know. He’d never had a boyfriend, or a girlfriend, or a dead one for that matter.

“I just… I don’t get it one second he was here and, and being such a dick and then-” Dina choked through. She made a vague motion with her fists, closing them up and then spreading them out into palms and splayed fingers. “His head _exploded_ , Stan.”

“I know.”

Dina knitted her eyebrows further. “Stan you were literally knocked out how would you even-” 

Stan cut her off with a smooth motion of putting a finger against his lips. “I know, but it’s not my story to tell you how.” He pinched his brow, trying to come up with a decent excuse.

“Just trust me on this, Dina, it’s all going to be fine. I can promise you that. Actually scratch that, I can’t. I could give you a blunt though? I mean I’m not sure if it would help but we could try.”

Within fifteen minutes they were sat at the edge of the football field, blunt held loosely in Dina’s left hand. The blood was now mostly gone, though some crusted under her fingernails.

“I don’t know what to do, Stan. For the first time in ever, I’m completely full of whatever emotion this is. All I know is that it fucking _sucks_. I wish I could punch Brad for talking like that about Syd, but he’s gone, and when I think about it, it just… Crumbles.”

Syd’s diary burns in Stan’s pocket.

Stan tilts his head up to a starless sky. A faint pulse of red light, no doubt a plane flying over them. Breathing in the air, crisp with secrets and death and things that he couldn’t even begin to understand.

“You’re not supposed to know how to deal with death. Life just comes and goes, y’know? You shouldn’t be expected to know how to live when someone you love is dead.” He understands, to some extent, and gives a little gold nugget of ‘Stan Advice’. “Finding out how to deal with it yourself is sort of like a journey, I guess. To be fair, he was kind of a dick though.”

She rests her head on his shoulder, and he adjusts so that she fits in the crook of his neck. Dina’s hair tickles his nose. It’s less than peaceful, bordering on insane, but it’s their own insanity and what matters is they’re in it together.

There’s a small giggle. “He was kind of a dick. Still miss him though. Still confused.”

“That’s okay.” A little quirk in his mouth makes it out to be a lazy smile.

“Why did Syd leave? I mean, she usually storms out when she gets angry or embarrassed but, why?” Dina takes another hit, fingers drumming idly on her thigh.

There was the question he’d been dreading. Well, second to asking how Brad died. “Well, I think I might know. But the thing is I’m not sure if I can _tell_ you. And I’m not sure you’d believe me.” Stan bites his lip, a thousand different scenarios of how this could go playing out in his mind. Syd would be pissed. It was her story to tell after all, but he couldn’t just leave Dina in the dark. 

Dina chuckles. “Try me. I saw my ex’s head explode, realized I was in love with my best friend and am getting high on the same night. Not to mention it’s with Stanley fucking Barber.” 

“I take full offense to that, thank you very much. As for why, I think I should wait for Syd to tell you. She’d probably kill me if I did without her permission.” Meanwhile, Dina’s gentle laughter subsided into a deep, groaning sigh. “That _does_ sound like my Syd. Good ol’ Miss Novak.”

“You’re so high.” He slowly rises from the damp grass, arching his back and stretching his arms as far as he can up into the night. It seems never-ending, the sky. His life feels never-ending too. That’s just how one feels when a teenager. An expanse of living in the midst of constant death. Stan thinks of the whole world when he’s high, and finds it strange how such a large planet can fit into such a small brain.

“Let’s go find her. It’ll be like… A quest.” Stan reaches down to help Dina up, and she nods. 

They walk for a while, every often with Dina leaning against Stan.”The world’s spinning,” she slurs. It sure as hell is. They both wonder about Syd, hoping that with some miracle she hasn’t blown anything else up. Hoping that she’s safe, wherever she may be.

Meanwhile, on the other side of town, Syd is anything but safe. Syd is _freaking the fuck out._


	2. stalkers have feelings too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Syd meets River. River meets Syd. Simple... Or at least it should be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am back on it babey!!!! i hope you enjoy and also writing an original character(semi-original) was Interesting but i hope you enjoy nonetheless :)) the name River is taken from a character from the comic, and I've imaginary-casted Sam Worthington as him (because the voice,, sounds like him. possible actor?? mayhaps)

The world should’ve been plain. Simple, easy, _normal_. The word had lost all meaning at this point. Finally, one singular moment alone to relax and distance herself from whatever monster lived inside Syd.

She isn’t surprised when such a moment is interrupted by an arched figure with a steely gaze. Sure, she’s scared, to some extent, but she _had_ just committed teenage homicide so it couldn’t be that bad… Right?

_“Let’s begin.”_

A gravelly, authoritative voice that sends goosebumps running up her arms. She swallows, hard, and clenches her teeth.

“Listen I have no idea what the _fuck_ you want from me but i am not about to trust someone who literally just materialized behind me!” Sydney Novak was lying right there. She knows, deep inside herself, that this man, cloaked figure, whatever-the-fuck can help her.

It approaches, and she bristles with such force that the air around her gets charged. Syd can feel a thrum under her skin, the air more damp than it was a second ago, minuscule droplets of vapor held in place by her mind. “You can’t hurt me. I can- I can make this whole tower collapse with a thought. Don’t come any closer!”

She backs into the railing. 

It doesn’t stop.

Sydney thinks she’ll never escape the night.

The figure holds out a hand. Palm-up, a gesture she remembers as Brad’s offer of a peace treaty. Her eyes snap shut, mind drowning. 

_Crack._

“Ah, fuck!”

Tentatively, one of her eyes cracks open and she sees the figure doubled over, holding his hand whose middle finger is bent ninety degrees outwards. The figure makes a dejected noise, and slowly removes its hood to reveal a… Middle aged man? 

He looks to be about forty, with close-cropped dark hair and a widow’s peak. Stubble on his chin, a mustache that isn’t _quite_ there.

“The name’s River. And you’re awfully rude for a teenager that just murdered someone.” Sydney’s not quite sure what to say. There are thoughts in her head ranging from _What the hell?_ to _You definitely don’t look like a River to me._

“I know, I don’t look like a River but that’s what happens when your parents are useless hippies.” River’s staring at his hands, gently rubbing at the pad of his middle finger.

“I’m sorry about your-” 

“I know.” River smiles with humorless intensity. “You’re not the only one in Brownsville that isn’t normal.”

* * *

Syd’s taking a shower in a strange man’s home. _Mom would definitely approve,_ she thinks. What she’s learned in the past hour is that River lives in a cabin in the woods, which totally isn’t creepy at all. Also, he listens to Bloodwitch apparently. For a brief moment, she believes that he and Stan would get along. Stan… He’s probably looking for her. _Dina,_ oh, Dina. She feels a pang of guilt for not telling her, now scrubbing blood from her face in a desperate attempt to wash away her feelings.

By the time she gets out, there's a button up shirt next to the sink along with her dog tags, the pristine metal near-reflective. The mirror’s fogged up, cream tile lining the walls. The air smells like cigarettes and some potent men’s deodorant. _The smell of freedom,_ apparently.

‘At least it’s clean,’ she whispers to herself, the shirt dropping to her knees. The air of irony to the whole situation remains, taking refuge in the home of her stalker.

He’s splayed on a plaid couch, ice pack in hand and cigarette in mouth. “Kid, you should know I didn’t mean to scare you back there. Just wanted to make sure you were the right one.”

Syd scoffs. “The right what? Right trauma-bearing kid with unknown superpowers?”

An eye roll. “You could’ve been arrested, you know that right?” River tapped once, twice into the ashtray before him. There was a vague resemblance to her father, the position, the faint, disapproving wrinkles in his brow. She had so many questions, and yet no coherent sentence came to her mind that wasn’t a sarcastic retort.

“Like they’d arrest a kid that didn’t even _touch_ the guy’s head that exploded. Also, you’re not my dad or anything.” She still couldn’t get the fact of the murder through her thick skull. Murdered a hedgehog, nearly _killed Stan,_ and committed homicide at homecoming. _Weekend plans, amirite?_ “Well, strange things have happened here before you were even a thought in your parents’ heads. I doubt the police would ignore it, given Brownsville’s past.” River wraps a damp towel around his hand, idling for a moment while lighting another smoke. 

“Thanks, that makes me feel so much less creeped out by the situation.” Syd rubs at her knuckles, sensory nerves overloading her mind. “What’s with the disappearing and reappearing act? Like, are those your powers?” The question just rolls out, perfectly innocent. 

“Pfft, I wish. Shit’s an absolute curse. Telekinesis, teleportation, telepathy. I call ‘em the three T’s of trash-ass abilities. Could’ve been given something useful, like conjuring. Real important when you’re short on cash.”

“Couldn’t you just, teleport inside a bank and steal the money that way?” She curls up, folding her knees in as she sits on a nearby barstool.

“Hmph. True. You wanna see me disappear?” There’s a jauntily charming grin before he starts _fucking disintegrating_. A cloud of dust crowds where his torso once was, particles fluttering around in waves before eventually passing out of sight.

He reappears then, halfway across the room, arms splayed out. “Ta-da.” His voice perfectly monotone.

Syd thinks to herself, really thinks, if she could do that. Probably not. All she knew was that it was damn cool.

Maybe River wasn’t so bad after all. Maybe, she could hide here. Tell Dina and Stan of course, let Goob know. Just maybe… Start new. Make the un-normal her own normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> question! do you prefer shorter or longer shapters? ranging from 800-3,000 words :) <3


	3. the aftermath of love and homicide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dina contemplates her relationships through the therapeutic medium of peanut butter at ungodly hours in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aah hello! thank you for stopping by and reading, and i am dreadfully sorry for the long wait. quarantine has had my entire motivation stripped from me and finally i've produced some redeemable work. again, sorry for the long wait (and inferior writing skills) and please enjoy this angsty little chapter! love you all - raven

There is nothing but unbridled ecstasy in the early hours of Saturday. Though caused by a pervading numbness due to some illegal drug she would never admit to smoking, Dina had since pondered the events of prom as if it were a dream. 

Shoes in hand and feet bare, Stan had driven Dina back home at the ripe time of 2 in the morning. There are no glances at her bloody disposition because there is no one there. Brownsville has a talent of taking parents. Hers are working, god knows where. They love her, she knows, her mother a prominent part of her childhood. But she’s older now. They seem to lose touch, schedules never align quite right anymore. 

“Do you think she’s okay?” Dina’s voice echoes off the concrete, feet woefully planted onto a welcoming mat.

“Yeah. Definitely.” Stanley thinks he should say more. But he doesn’t, and Dina looks up at him and nods. 

“Thank you. For like, driving me home. And the blunt.”

Stan salutes, a good-humored and rather pitiful smile on his face. His brows are all scrunched up, one side of his mouth more tense than the other. Dina can see his front teeth, and she thinks him reminiscent of a little, curly-haired rabbit. A small feeling knots itself into the small of her back. _Is this what a friend feels like?_ It is. Over and over again, Stanley Barber proves to be a friend.

“Any time.” He’s off with a coltish prance.

Dina rids herself of the bloodied dress, stumbling through her room into a cold, cold shower. She likes it that way. Smooth sheets of water cascade, glossy and pleasant, downright refreshing. There isn’t any music playing, but she can imagine it. Messy guitar, something sounding like a constant downhill on a street in Seattle. Backing vocals, not words, but just a low hum. The whole ambiance reeks of a coming-of-age movie. _Maybe this is a coming of age movie. Maybe I’m the main character. Maybe I’m just the ensemble._

The next few hours pass unnoticed. Dina curls up onto a couch, in a fluffy robe with sleeves much too short. There’s a jar of peanut butter in her hand and a spoon in the other, with no memory of where the items were acquired. Syd loves peanut butter. Dina cries while shovelling spoonfuls of it into her mouth.

Syd, oh dearest, dearest Syd. What a strange force of nature. Dina knows she loves her. She can just _feel_ it. It had never even occurred to her. Not even a passing thought. But it was painfully obvious. At the diner, she had found herself staring at Syd instead of Brad. Secretly wanting to make her jealous. Hoping Syd would notice when their knees ‘accidentally’ brushed against each other under the table. Praying she would make a move.

That she did. Dina would never admit it, but there was more of a skip in her heartbeat and a prickle in her face than there ever was with Brad. But she had convinced herself that Syd was just drunk. And then she acted like nothing happened, which proved her point. Syd was… not into girls. At least not sober. Peanut butter sticks to the roof of her mouth as muffled, despairing sobs escape.

 _She doesn’t love me. Not like I love her._ The mantra repeats itself. The pad of her pointer finger presses into her forehead. She’s searched herself for answers, a shred of hope that maybe, maybe this isn’t all a fantasy. The kiss replays in her head endlessly. 

She didn’t forget her argument with Brad that night. She just didn’t want Syd to know. He stood in Ricky’s bedroom, tapping his foot with a feathered muscle in his jaw. _“Dina. I’ll say this simply. I think you’re spending too much time with Syd.”_ To which Dina strongly disagreed, and may or may not have gone off on a tangent about how she was spending _less_ time with Syd than usual because of him. He was visibly jealous. Dina still loved him. And now, he’s dead. And she’s high. The ability to comprehend the day has completely left her. The only thing that’s left is a downward spiral into inevitable madness. Madness of love. 

As the sun rises, Dina’s eyelids give in to a dreamless, all-consuming sleep. A mild, but nevertheless real sleep. One to swallow her whole, leaving white noise and tv static in her place. Blurring the line between rest and death. Between love and hate. 

When she wakes, sunlight filters through the blinds and the world is new again. There’s a jar of peanut butter on the floor, the lid closed nearly halfway. A tainted spoon on the glass coffee table. The couch has proven to be a very comfortable place to sleep.

The bathroom mirror does little to display Dina. She can see herself, sure, but she can’t see _herself_. A disconnect from the body to the mind. Her eyes are hollow where emotion resides within. Her hair, wild, is tame close to her face, where curls dissipate into endless frizz. She scolds herself for not using conditioner the night before. She can’t see any wrinkles in her face, but she can feel them. In her forehead. In her cheeks. In her heart. 

Light-headed, ineffable sadness. It shouldn’t be there, because she’s a teenager, and this is normal, and it’ll all make sense eventually. But she knows it won’t. She’s witnessed the death of her ex, for fuck’s sake. The odd thing is, she isn’t crying over him. She should be, but the emotions in her gut dissipate and sputter out when she thinks of him. Dina isn’t concerned. _Everyone takes death differently, I guess. Stan is right. There is no right way of dealing with it._

As if called on by angels, the doorbell rings. There’s a faint image of Stan in her mind, standing in front of her door, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. The door handle shimmers gold in the light of the afternoon as she turns it. 

“Good. Uh. Morning? I mean, I woke up like a half hour ago but it’s.. Uh..” Stanley Barber pulls up his sleeve to reveal a comically large leather watch. “Three pm. Anyway. Should we tell Syd’s mom?”

This catches Dina off guard. “Oh. Oh shit.” 

Stan hunches over a little, scratching at the nape of his neck. “Yeah.. I kinda had the same reaction when I realized…”

* * *

Dina had fixed Stan a coffee and went to her room to change, in which time the reality of the situation sunk in completely. _How the fuck do I tell Syd’s mom that she ran off and most probably won’t be coming back for a long time? Shit._

They spend some time thinking, Stan propped up on the coffee table and Dina pacing. 

“She won a vacation to New York and left on short notice?” Stan shrugs.

“Definitely not. She’d tell Liam. He’d be suspicious.”

Stanley’s eyebrows shoot up. “Who’s Liam?”

“Her brother.”

“Oh yeah, that kid.”

“Yeah.”

“OH.” Stanley raises a hand in mock excitement. “I have the _best_ idea.”

“And what’s your idea, oh almighty one.” Dina stops in her tracks, arms folding in.

“Okay hear me out.” The plan unfolds itself neatly in Dina’s head as Stan speaks. They go over to Syd’s house, and sneak in through the back door. They find Liam, and tell him the story. Truthfully, because Dina knows that little ball of mischief can smell a lie. Easy and simple.

“So that way, we pass on the explanation to Liam, we’re home free, and everything sorts itself out!” Stanley’s eyes burn with a certain passion only present when he’s scheming.

“That’s the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard.” Dina says this only to hear his reaction.

“Do you have a better one?” Stan’s face contorts into a stupidly smug grin.

_History repeats itself._ A gulp of coffee and a car ride later, they’re standing in front of Sydney Novak’s humble abode.

They barely make it out back when a face peeks through the window, a little boy with a fierce tuft of blonde, curly hair and a black eye. He stares at them for a second, a pensive look on his face.

“Excuse my potty-mouth, but where in the ever-loving fuck is my sister?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you've made it to the end! i had been envisioning car outside your door by vendor & the cobras as the song dina's listening to in her head in the shower, please go give it a listen! it's got like. 8 views on youtube and i'm pretty sure i'm about 7 of them. thank you for reading. it's been a hard time these past few weeks but i hope my writing can make you a little less depressed about the whole apocalypse situation :) also!! not many will see this but i'm taking writing suggestions pertaining to ianowt!! send some fics you want to happen my way :)


End file.
